


A Hard Day's Night

by blythechild



Category: V for Vendetta (2005)
Genre: F/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>V returns to the Shadow Gallery in a bad mood so he turns to the Wurlitzer to cheer himself up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Day's Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is fluff - no warnings.
> 
> This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over any characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment.

V was in a mood again. It was initially very hard to tell; it’s difficult to glean anything from a man whose every inch is covered up, but eventually Evey came to read the signs as if they were expressions on his hidden face. The stamping of boots, a frustrated tug at his cape upon returning to the Gallery, or even how his conversational gregariousness evaporated like mist in the gloom of his rooms: V was just as cranky as anyone else.

In the few months that Evey had been his “guest”, V had been a consummate host, but his days and life outside of the Gallery were his own and he didn’t share any of it with her. Considering how she got there and her inability to leave, Evey’s life was an open book to him and she resented the fact that he would give her every comfort save news from the outside world. Furthermore, V was a killer and she was unsure how to console someone over a “hard day at the office” that included someone’s death. Even if he trusted her enough to tell her, what would she say? “Tomorrow’s another day” or “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger” ? She was clearly out of her depth.

There was something else as well: if he came home in a dark mood, she was afraid of what he might do. Was he fully in control of himself? Would he strike out at her if she did the wrong thing? She was living by his leave in more ways than one.

It must have been raining out as he was soaked through. She watched him from her perch in a corner of the Gallery, following him with her eyes over the top of her book. He shrugged off his dripping cloak with some effort and carelessly tossed his hat at his dangerously unstable coat tree. The hat sailed past the tree and landed upside down with a soggy splat on the flagstones beside it. With shoulders hunched, she thought that she heard him growl at it. He started towards it and then noticed his boots three inches mired with muck. Muttering something foul and quite possibly French, he ripped both boots off and let them fall from his hands as he viewed his gloves with new distain. He made for the kitchen with aggressive purpose, as his wig remained motionless, evidently too wet to sway with him. Evey sat still, her heart racing. Had it been any other man, the performance would have been funny, and she would have offered her help. But in these moments he exuded toxicity, and though she was becoming more deeply drawn to him everyday, something inside told her to keep her distance. He was like water tainted by gasoline: iridescent and murky, compelling and dangerous.

He grabbed a rag from the drain board and began rubbing his gloves furiously. Almost without her knowledge, Evey had roused herself and began walking towards the kitchen.

“Evening, V.”

“Mmph.” The rubbing continued. His shoulders tensed.

“How was your day?” she squeaked. This was the most frightening and pedantic phrase that she had ever uttered, she thought. Context is everything.  
“It was moist, Evey.” The withering disdain could not be hidden from his voice as he turned on his heel and marched over to the Wurlitzer and away from her. Her heart sank.

V often remained entirely silent when returning home; choosing instead to play a few raucous and upbeat tunes from the jukebox before remembering that someone else was there. Though the player was stocked with various songs spanning many genres of music, on days such as these he seemed to prefer pop tunes of the mindless and danceable variety. Songs whose lyrics seemed instinctual and whose beats were infectious. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, U2, Bowie, The Beach Boys, James Brown had all lightened his mood at one time or another. Now, he stabbed a selection into the machine, no doubt hoping for the same result. The machine glowed cheerily but played nothing. He tried again with similar success. He made a low growling noise in the back of his throat that rolled into a yell as he kicked the side of the jukebox.

“V! What’s the matter!” Evey shivered both at his violence and at her demanding tone.

“Evey, for Christ’s sake, will you leave me be for just a moment!” V half turned to utter the threat. If he had had eyes, they surely would have sliced through her. At that moment, because Fate has excellent timing, the Wurlitzer came to life playing the opening notes of The Beatles’ “Hard Day’s Night”. V’s shoulders slouched as he half stared at the now pie-eyed Evey trembling before him. He turned so that his back was against the jukebox, his head bowed as if he couldn’t make himself look at her. He sighed and then straightened his shoulders. He kicked the side of the machine again to make the song skip back to the beginning.

“Let’s start again, shall we?” he said a moment before leaping forward and grabbing her in his arms. 

“Ouff!” Evey’s heart was hammering in her chest and V’s sudden pouncing had made her freeze like a hare in the brambles. He pulled her into him and forced the breath out of her, adding to her fear. He began to swing her around in time to the song’s rhythm. If she had been more collected they would indeed be…dancing.

“…and I’ve been working like a dog. But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do – they make me feel alright.” V sang breezily as he twirled her out of his arms and then back in again. Evey had recovered enough to start moving in time with him, though he was such a strong partner that she could have relaxed all of her muscles and he still would have been able to lead her properly. When the bridge came, he spun her out into the Gallery and slid in his stocking feet across the kitchen tiles grabbing a wooden spoon and tapping the kettle in time with the song’s cowbell. Evey twirled like a dervish and began to laugh with giddiness; all fear forgotten. She sashayed into the kitchen to revel in his cow belling, bumping his hip with her own to the beat.

“Ah, the COWBELL!” V enthused. “An underrated percussive instrument, truly.” 

Evey giggled hysterically as V theatrically threw his spoon in the sink and swept her up and out into the Gallery once more. With greater room to move, and a newly willing partner, V broke out his more spectacular moves. Choruses followed as the pair continued to spin, twirl, dip and Lindy Hop with increasing abandon and hilarity. Evey felt lighter than air under his guiding hand: he showed her where to move and she went. It was an easy and unconscious partnering. She didn’t shirk at his touch or feel anything but joy in the movement, but a flush nevertheless began to color her cheeks. Evey’s blouse and sleeves where now as soaked through as V’s from their contact and strands of V’s wig had glued themselves comically to his mask from his exertions. When the song came to a sudden end, V let out a definitive, “Chicka-boom!” as if that phrase said it all.

They parted from each other, both panting and laughing, Evey blushing conspicuously. V leaned up against the jukebox, relaxed and casual.

“Ahh, Evey.” He said breathlessly and with an air of immense satisfaction. “I apologize for being sharp with you. It wasn’t you, of course, that I was vexed with. You are the best part of returning here from my day…” He trailed off thoughtfully then stiffened. 

Evey’s giggling calmed into a shy smile at his words. She was glad of the Gallery’s gloom so as to spare them both the embarrassment of her flushed face that was growing hotter by the second. She saw his body language and thought that he might be blushing too. She wondered idly what joy he found in his day’s end before she arrived. V stood erect and bowed low towards her melting his momentary awkwardness artfully into the movement.

“Miss Hammond, I humbly thank you for the honor of the dance.” He made a soggy sounding flourish. “I think perhaps I should change out of these wet things.”

Evey watched him turn to go, her heart pounding harder still, but this time with something other than fear. 

“E-136!”

“Pardon?” He stopped and half turned.

“E-136. When I’m cranky, I like E-136. It’s good for working out, um, frustrations.” 

V walked over to the Wurlitzer again and found the song. “Twist and Shout” he nodded to himself.

Evey walked up behind him. As she reached across him to make the selection, she brushed against his braced arms. “It kinda forces the bad out of you. It bounces you around until there’s nothing left in you but happy. At least, that’s how I like to think of it.” She murmured as she held her hand in his and led him out onto the floor.

“Now that I know that you can boogie, V, I wanna see you twist!” She smiled mischievously as she held him out at arm’s length. The song launched itself bombastically, and they were off again in each other’s arms.

“Shake it up, baby.” V said aloud but his words were drowned out by Evey’s laughter.


End file.
